Coming out....

I’ve mentioned a few times that I do some voluntary work through in Falkirk on a fairly regular basis but I’ve never actually said what that work involves. However, last night I was really chuffed when I was presented with a wee certificate that signals the end of nine months as a trainee and marks my accreditation as a fully qualified Samaritan.

It’s not all that long since SAMS weren’t encouraged to reveal to anyone – apart from their families – what they were doing when they skulked off into the night (or day, or early morning!) for a shift. But sensibly, in my opinion, that’s all changed and the decision whether or not to disclose their Samaritan status is very much left up to the individual volunteer. Only my family and a few of my friends knew that I was training to be - then working under supervision as - a Samaritan, but I’d always intended being totally open about it once I’d fully qualified. I think there’s far too much secrecy, stigma and hush surrounding the issue of emotional distress and mental health as it is; the more open we can all be about it, and the more we talk about the help that’s on offer - in my humble opinion - the better.

One of the arguments against ‘coming out of the closet’ as a SAM is that it might put friends or family members off phoning for fear of hearing a familiar voice. Well, the chances of that happening are extremely slim - mainly because callers aren’t always put through to their local branch and, if they were, there are so many different volunteers working so many different shifts that there’s only a pretty remote chance that the person answering the phone would be someone the caller knew. If it did happen, the person would be assured that their call would be treated with the utmost privacy and, of course, they would be offered the opportunity to speak to another volunteer. One of things that Samaritans pride themselves on is the complete and utterly confidential, safe space they provide for anyone who needs to talk.

Anyway, it is still a valid reason for some volunteers to choose to keep quiet about being a SAM, but it’s not reason enough for me. I think the positive aspects of being open about working as a Samaritan far outweigh the reasons for keeping it a secret.

One of the most important of these is the opportunity to spread the word that SAMS are just ordinary folk; ordinary folk from all walks of life who've been through a long – and pretty intense – training process, who will listen to people without judging, who won’t interrupt inappropriately and won’t offer their own experiences or opinions or advice, who won’t divulge anything to anybody outside of SAMS and will allow anyone - anyone at all - who’s feeling really low, or upset, or depressed, or confused, or worried, or sad, or is grieving, or is manic, or has financial problems ... well, I think you get the picture... the time and space just to talk. It’s a bit of an urban myth that it’s only people who are thinking about committing suicide that phone Samaritans. The vast majority of calls are from people who are in some sort of emotional distress, but only a relatively small percentage (20%) of those calls are from people who are already either actively suicidal or  are having suicidal thoughts. The idea is to, hopefully, help prevent some people actually getting to that stage just by lending an ear.

So, these ordinary folk – who aren’t there as doctors or psychoanalysists or financial advisors or bereavement counsellors or any other kind of specialist – basically just offer a friendly (though well-trained) ear. It’s been shown time and again that listening to someone, unconditionally, can help to reduce their distress; no matter what kind of state of mind they’re in. Offering a friendly ear (that isn’t linked to any kind of religious organisation – another urban myth surrounding the Samaritans) is precisely what the Samaritans do, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week – and it makes me feel great, after a lot of training, mentoring and building up of experience, to be able, at last, to call myself a fully qualified SAM.

Oh, by the way, once I step out of that duty room, I’m just plain Jane again; so, there may well be times that I don't give my full attention to a story, or times that I inappropriately interrupt when someone’s pouring their heart out, and I might even glaze over when someone goes on a bit (sorry Alex!) - for all of that, I apologise in advance! But, I do like to think that what drew me to Samaritans in the first place - being told that I'm a good listener and wanting to put that to good use - will always be with me to some extent, both inside the duty room and out!

Realising it's time to stop stop stop stop sobbing!

There are lots of things that are bad about social networking sites but, for every one of those things, there does tend to be something else that's good. We'll say that anyway as it helps to justify – in my mind – logging onto Facebook on a fairly regular basis! One of those good things is the warm, fuzzy feeling you get when one of your friends either drops you a wee message or posts you a wee link to cheer you up when you’re feeling a bit down. Back in the olden days, we would’ve lifted the phone or written a letter – but the sentiment’s just the same either way.

Now - as I might just have mentioned recently - I’m feeling pretty sad at the moment. However, some of the messages and other such things that my pals have been sending through texts, emails and Facebook have really cheered me up (maybe only for a few brief moments - as I’m not quite ready to stop wallowing yet - but they’ve cheered me up all the same!). One of these, a message and link that my friend Sue posted (onto my Facebook wall), not only made me smile, but also made me realise that it’s time to stop talking about my tears! So, here’s the link, along with a promise to stop any more stories of my maudlin feelings over Ross moving out. It’s time to get a grip, publicly at least!

Knowing this feeling'll pass

This time two years ago, I was struggling to cope with the fact that the first of my kids had just moved out. Now, when I say struggling to cope, I don’t mean that I was a complete emotional wreck and unable to function on a day-to-day basis! But, I did have a terrible aching heart, I did keep bursting into tears and it did take me quite a while to get used to the fact that my eighteen year old wee girl no longer lived at home.  I remember feeling really guilty about feeling so bad, and thinking that it was totally ridiculous that I was so upset. I remember thinking that many of my friends and family members had had to deal with much more awful things in their lives and that I was being pathetic and should pull myself together! But I simply couldn’t help how I felt. So, I kept myself to myself for a wee while  – just for a few days – and indulged myself in big dollops of self-pity while mourning the loss of the all-under-the-same-roof stage of my wee family's life. It was important not to let Gemma know how upset I was so, when I spoke to her on the phone, I made sure I sounded happy and excited to hear about all her new friends in her new environment; I genuinely was happy and excited for her, but mixed in with that was a big dod of sadness that had no place in our chit-chats! However, it wasn’t too long before my mood lifted and we'd all adjusted to the change.

One of the positive things to come with Gemma’s departure was the realisation that it was time for me to do something more constructive with the time that I used to devote to the kids and all their bits and bobs. I suppose it was a fairly typical response to the clichéd ‘empty-nest’ syndrome but, whatever it was, it led to such things as studying with the Open University, devoting more time to writing, working as a volunteer with two fantastic organisations, doing a counselling skills course, joining a choir (which is so much more to me than just a choir), keeping up (just) with work work and meeting loads of lovely and interesting people – some of whom have become very special friends – along the way. I’m still not sure where I’m going with all these things, but I’m certainly enjoying the ride!

So, you’d think that this time around, now that it’s Ross’s turn to flee the coup, I’d be better equipped - both emotionally and practically - to deal with his departure. Bollocks. Yesterday I had a lump in my throat as Gemma drove out of the driveway to head back to Uni; I’m used to her going now, but sometimes the little lump still catches me unawares. A few hours later - after a big, painful hug, with no last words from me for fear of the flood-gates opening - Ross also drove off in his wee car, laden with the things that we didn’t move in to his flat last week when he got the keys. Alex and Gordon stood with me out on the drive to wave him off and I thought I was going to burst as the three men that I love most in the world laughed and joked with a last minute bit of banter. And then he was away. Not to another country, or another planet, just to Glasgow. But my boy had moved out, had moved away from home.

I’ve cried a lot since Ross left – but this time I don’t feel guilty, and I don’t mind if anyone were to think it was ridiculous. I know we have to deal with much, much worse things in our lives than dealing with the emotions that come along with our kids moving away from home, and I know – from valuable past experience – that the way I’m feeling now will soon pass. However, I think it’s OK to indulge yourself in a bit of grief for the loss of something that you’ve loved very much for the past eighteen years; your boy living under the same roof as you.

This time around I’m not battening down the hatches; I worked at the hospice this morning, did a load of work work this afternoon and had a brilliant night at choir (even though I did have to keep swallowing hard!). There’s absolutely no shame in feeling sad along with happy, excited and proud when your kids move out of the house. That’s another important thing that I’ve learned during the past couple of years.

Ross is settling in really well so far – which is absolutely the most important thing in all of this – and, in about ten minutes from now, he’ll be walking in to the student union as a legal drinker. So, I’d better finish this off and go get ready to phone my brilliant son. He might be away from home, but that doesn’t mean that his auld maw can’t be first to wish him a very loving, very excited and very Happy 18^th Birthday on the stroke of midnight...and I’ll obviously be making sure the tears are saved for bedtime!

Mum and her Tesco vouchers

My mum has always played a big part in her grandchildren’s lives and, even though they’re practically all grown up now, she still gets a lot of pleasure out of doing ‘Gran’ things with them. One of those things involves the relinquishing of her hard-earned Tesco vouchers!

On Monday it was Ross’s turn to do the rite of passage visit to the big Tesco in Cumbernauld with Gran to shop for some of the stuff he needs for moving in to his student flat. I tagged along - doing my very best not to interfere, but having to, just occasionally, stick my neb in – and smiled as I listened to my mum and my son debate the merits of such things as a pyrex measuring jug over a plastic one, or a frying pan over a wok, or a fish slice over a spatula. All essential items, of course, for a Fresher at Uni...

Seriously though, it was a lovely way to spend a Monday lunchtime and a nice start to our preparations for Ross’s move. It just seems like no time at all since Mum was taking the kids away for a play in the park, and I love that my lot (and her other grandchildren) still enjoy spending time with her ... whether she’s spoiling them with her Tesco vouchers, plying them with her home-baking or calling on them for help with her mobile phone!  Yup, my auld maw's been - and continues to be - a great wee Gran, and we're all so lucky to have her.

Getting Ross home from hospital and a great night out

One fleeting thought that crossed my mind on Friday afternoon, while sitting beside Ross as he lay on a bed in the Clinical Assessment Unit of our local hospital, was that I was probably going to miss the choir night out. I know that must sound bad - but it was only because I’d been there for a few hours, and Ross was nodding off, that my mind started to wander! Up until then, all I could think about was the ramifications for Ross if his blood tests came back confirming the doctor’s suspicion that an appendectomy was necessary.

After Ross received his Highers results last summer, knowing that he had all that he needed to get into Uni, he decided to leave school and work for a year before he started his course.  So, for the past 12 months he’s been working for St James’s Place in the big Prudential offices; a well-known Stirling landmark. He’s gained valuable work experience, saved up some cash to help him out at Uni and was lucky enough to be working with a great team of people. Friday was his last day at work, which should’ve been spent enjoying a bit of banter with his lovely team of workmates followed by a wee leaving ‘do’; instead, it was his first day off sick. Talk about bad timing! Excruciating pain on his right side had led the GP to send him straight to hospital, and that’s how we found ourselves waiting on blood results after an examination by the surgeon.

Missing his last day of work was bad enough, but even worse was the prospect of missing Fresher’s Week, missing the start of his new course at Uni and - more importantly, as far as Ross was concerned - not being able to run at the start of the cross country season! While we were waiting on the results, Ross’s colour gradually started to return and the pain started to dull. We were delighted when the results came back as negative for appendicitis, but frustrated that no clear conclusion could be given as to what had caused the severe discomfort. The results showed a slightly higher than expected result for something to do with his liver (I can’t remember exactly what the surgeon called it), so the diagnosis of a possible gall bladder issue was suggested. He’s to go for further blood tests next week to see if they can shed any further light. The doctor told him not to worry – he thought it was possibly a wee stone that would probably pass into his large intestine and give him no further bother – especially as he’s so young. We’re kind of going with that at the moment as the severe pain and general yucky feeling had gone by the middle of the evening. He’s still got a bit of discomfort in his side – but we’re hoping that’s just been caused by a bit of irritation or something. Anyway, fingers crossed, all’s going to be well for him having a week of getting ready for the off before being able to throw himself fully into Fresher’s Week.

Getting back to my drifting thoughts while I was sitting by Ross’s bedside, it had occurred to me that I'd have to miss the choir night out if Ross had to have an operation. However, his good night’s sleep on Friday night followed by a good day on Saturday, with no hint of any severe pain, meant that I could head out without worrying too much. Strict instructions were left at home to call me if necessary (Ross would’ve had a fit if he’d know that I had my phone on the table and kept checking it every ten minutes or so, as he just wanted me to go out and enjoy myself and stop making a fuss – but it’s hard to switch off those mother-hen worry hormones!) .

As far as the night itself was concerned; you know how you have good nights out, and you have GREAT nights out? Well, the choir’s was a GREAT night out; great company, a good wee boogie, lovely grub and a room full of fantastic singers taking turns on the karaoke machine – brilliant! And, I managed to shake off a bit of a gremlin. A bit of Dutch courage late on in the night, and a bit of gentle encouragement from Colin (choir director Annie’s lovely husband), saw me standing with the mike singing a wee song. I felt a bit of a numpty because everyone else had just got up and sang and enjoyed themselves, without appearing to be at all nervous. I just hadn’t had the courage to do that.  And when I did change my mind and decide to have a go, I still tried to bottle out at the last minute by trying to get Gordon to come and sing with me! For every bit of confidence I was lacking, he had more in bucket-loads. Gordon had already been up on the wee stage, giving it laldy – just as we all do at home when we’re having a sing-song - but his ability to just relax and entertain was matched in equal measure by my reluctance to have a go! However, I did end up singing on my own; my hands and legs were shaking and I was sweating buckets – I don’t think I’ve felt that nervous since I sat my Grade One piano exam as a quivering thirty five year old wreck (that’s another story for another day..!) But in the end, I did sing the whole song - with some much-appreciated encouragement from the wee group that were still left, including Alex - and stepped off the platform with a real sense of having hurdled a big barrier. I know that some of my friends who’ve known me for years – especially those who’ve sometimes had to fight to get the beer bottle off me at sing-song time – would find it hard to believe that I was so nervous about doing something they all know I love to do; just to sing. I think I was getting too hung up on hitting the odd bum note or three – I think I naively thought that doing that in your living room is different from doing it with the choir peeps. It really brought it home to me last night that that’s not the case at all. It’s really just the same thing. It’s being with a bunch of good pals, letting your hair down and having some fun. And, what’s the odd bum note between pals?!

So, the last couple of days have been a mixture of worry, relief and fun. The most important thing is that Ross is OK and - fingers well and truly crossed - he’s going to be fighting fit for moving through to Glasgow next week. We’re off out for a whole big family meal later as Ross and his cousin are both leaving for Uni soon. It promises to be a lovely way to end what, thankfully, turned out to be a great weekend.

Being with inspirational people

I met an amazing lady last night. I was really tired (after sitting up till yon time the night before waiting on Gemma and Alex to arrive home safe and sound) so it was with some reluctance that I headed out the door at 10pm to do a late night shift. But, as is often the case when you’re not looking forward to something, it turned out to be a really good night, simply because of the lady I was working with.

Judy’s in her early sixties and she’s almost blind. She was telling me that she can still see a clear picture in her mind of the Optician’s face when, during a regular eye-test some years ago, he broke the news that there was something seriously wrong with her eyes. The actual details aren’t important here but, basically, it was confirmed soon after – during a hastily-arranged hospital appointment - that she would lose the sight in her left eye within a few months. She was also told that she would lose the sight in her right eye, but it was impossible to predict when that would be. Fairly quickly after that - she described it as someone slowly pulling a blind up – she became blind in one eye. You know when you’re in a swimming pool and you’ve got goggles on and you do that thing of slowly putting your head under the water. The water line on your goggles gradually separates the scene of noisy, splashing children above and the quiet, gentle slow leg movements underneath. From the way that Judy described it, I imagine it being a bit like that, except that the under-water for Judy was complete and solid darkness. The loss of sight in her right eye has, fortunately, been a slower process and she still has some – though very limited and hazy – vision in it.

While she was telling me this story in the wee small hours of last night, Judy was smiling and animated. She explained that once she got over the initial shock, she decided to think of her disability as a chance to discover new things and take a new direction in her life. So, most of her time nowadays is taken up raising awareness of the issues that face blind and partially sighted people and working for a charity that trains and provides canine support workers!  I was so touched when she said that the best thing about her blindness was the opportunity it gave her to meet a whole load of new people: “I’d still have been working in the rat race and never have dreamt of doing voluntary work – so I’d never have met you! So, lots of good things have come out of losing my sight.” I was just bowled over by her positive outlook and zest for life. What an inspiration.

And tonight, I met two amazing young girls. I was really tired (after getting home at 3am from my twilight shift this morning) so it was with some reluctance that I headed out the door this evening for a training session through in Falkirk. The session was pretty heavy going and I struggled to get my head round everything, not just because I was tired, but also because I was anxious about making it back to Stirling in time for a special fund-raising concert that the choir were performing in. Fortunately for me, we weren’t due on stage till 9 o’clock so, after sweet-talking the tutor into letting me leave early, I wellied it along the M9 and made it to the gig with 10 minutes to spare.

The concert was organised by two fantastic young teenage girls, Holly Brown and Madison Anderson, in order to raise money for the Eilidh Brown Memorial Fund. Eilidh died of cancer last March when she was just 15 years old. Her family and friends have raised – and continue to raise - a phenomenal amount of money in Eilidh’s name, in the hope that they’ll someday build a holiday home for other young cancer sufferers and their families.

I didn’t arrive in time to see any of the other acts but, according to Alex and Gemma (who were in the audience) there were some fabulous performances from a variety of young, local bands, dancers, singers and musicians. The choir were last on the list, so the crowd were well warmed up and it was just a brilliant wee gig. What made it even more special for me was the fact that we were performing on the stage in Stirling High School. All of my kids have been on that stage on numerous occasions as Stirling High’s their school! And, I’ve actually been on it once before too! It was in 2008 – not long after the new Stirling High School opened - and I was sitting nervously next to Alex. Both of us were all dressed up in our posh togs, alongside the Rector and some other High Heid Yins, watching Gemma getting presented with her Dux medal. So, it was just lovely to be back on that stage tonight, along with Gordon and all our choir friends, singing some songs at the invitation of young Holly and Madison to help raise money for such an extremely worthwhile cause.

I have to take a wee moment here to mention Gordon’s solo bit. I’ve gone on before, at length, about how delighted I am that the choir now sings Don’t Stop Me Now. Well, John – who usually sings one of the solo parts – couldn’t make it along tonight, so Annie asked Gordon to step in. Consequently, there was Gordon, up on the stage at his own school, in front of a sell-out audience – which was made up of many of his friends, his teachers, his Dad and his big sister – singing “I’m a sex machine, ready to reload, like an atom bomb, About to oh, oh, oh, oh, oh explode!!!” Now, I know I’m really biased, but, aw man, he did a brilliant job – and I was so proud!

Anyway, back to the girls. I was so impressed, both with the manner in which they conducted themselves and with the professional approach they’d taken to putting the concert together. I was bowled over by their enthusiasm and determination to find something positive and worthwhile to do in memory of Eilidh. What an inspirational pair.

So, thanks to Judy, Madison and Holly I’ve had a great couple of nights in the company of fantastic people. Now though, I’m off to my scratcher to catch up on some much-needed sleep - with a very big smile on my face!

A mixed bag of emotions

I’m all excited. Gemma’s on the road home (with her auld dad for company) after a 3 month stint working down south. I’m just so looking forward to having her back – even though it’ll only be for a week or so before she heads back up to Uni. To keep me occupied tonight, I’ve been writing up some of my notes and mulling over some of the things we learned on the course today, which included a bit of work on attachment theory. Quite a coincidence really, considering I’m full of mixed emotions at the moment which are all mostly related to attachment in some way, shape or form!

First, I’m just so happy that Gemma’s coming home. She’s had a productive and useful summer, gaining lots of valuable work and life experience and I’m extremely proud of her for doing so well. I wouldn’t have it any other way, as far as Gemma’s ‘get-up-and-go’ is concerned, in fact,  I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop any of my kids from venturing out into the big world, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel sad when they do make that break away. I’d find it hard to forgive myself if any of my kids felt they couldn’t get on with doing what they wanted to do with their adult lives for fear of my reaction or impositions. So, Gemma knows that I miss her when she’s away from home – but she also knows I’m happy for her to be away – and, getting back to the course, I like to think that our attachment bond is such that Gemma always knows she has a safe, unconditionally loving home to come back to at any time!

Second, I’m just so sad, but excited too, that Ross’s Fresher’s Week is only a week and a bit away. I’m happy that Ross is going off on the next stage of his journey – but I’m sad because I’m going to miss him so much. He’s only moving to Glasgow, but just because he’s not moving far doesn’t make the fact that he’s moving away from home any easier to contemplate! Me and Alex’ll really miss him. But, Ross knows that we’re proud, happy and excited for him too - and I like to think that our attachment bond is such that Ross will always know he has a safe and unconditionally loving home to come back to at any time! Even if it is just to bring his washing...!

Thirdly, I’m just so sad that an older member of our family has chosen to detach themselves from the rest of us. We did a wee exercise today that involved drawing Genograms; which are sort of stylised family trees where symbols are used to represent such things as relationships, gender and status. It was such a painful thing, even after all these years, for me to put a cross in the square that represented my Dad. Anyway, the other thing that I found really difficult was trying to decide how to symbolise a relative who’s chosen not to be part of the family anymore. It really made me stop and think about how sad it all really makes me feel. It feels like bereavement, but nobody’s died. It’s really not a nice feeling – and it’s especially difficult for my mum. However, I like to think that the attachment bond that Mum has to the rest of her family makes her feel safe, loved and secure in the knowledge that she’ll always have the rest of us to look out for and look out for her!

Lastly, I’m just so grateful that I live with someone who lets me share all these mixed emotions and - even if we don’t always feel the same way about things, or don’t always fully understand exactly how the other’s feeling - allows me the space and time to just go with however I’m feeling at the time. Some bloke called Khalil Gibran once said that, joy and sorrow “are inseparable. Together they come and when one sits, alone with you ... remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.” I like to think that the attachment bond I have to Alex is such that I’ll always have a safe and unconditionally loving place to let “joy” or “sorrow” – or guilt, or anger, or excitement, or whatever other emotion – come and sit with me without making me feeling rushed into pushing those feelings aside again (well, at least until it’s deemed time to get a grip..!)

Hm, that was all a bit of a ramble to get to the point of basically saying I have a lot of mixed emotions going on at the moment but tonight, excitement and anticipation have definitely left all the others tucked up in bed!

Singing another special song

I love Monday nights. No matter my mood, no matter what else is going on, no matter how harassed I am when I rush out the door, I know that by 7.35 on a Monday night I’ll be feeling great. Tonight was absolutely no different. Before I left, I was rushing to finish off some bits and pieces of work work and I was feeling guilty because I hadn’t finished all the reading I was supposed to do for my course up in Perth tomorrow. I even contemplated – for all of two seconds - not going out at all. However, I knew that the emotional benefit of going would far outweigh the practical benefits of staying at home! And I’m so glad I did; being a bit lost during the course tomorrow will be a small price to pay for the pleasure of being at choir tonight.

Every member of the choir, I’m sure, could tell a story about at least one of the songs we sing and why particular songs are particularly special for them. I’ve written about a few already (like ‘Fix You’, ‘Wonderful World’ and ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’) and tonight yet another of my favourites was added to the list.

Annie and Jane work hard together for the Heart of Scotland Choir, but it’s usually Annie that spends a lot of time putting the arrangements together before directing us and teaching us how to sing our parts. Tonight was totally different though, as Jane was taking a wee turn at doing the song, and what a song she chose for her choir reveal debut!

One night, many moons ago, Alex and I were in our local in Glasgow having a few beers when we should’ve been studying. ‘The Rock’, on Hyndland Road, was just round the corner from our digs when we were at Uni and it was just too easy to opt for a few hours in the pub rather than a few hours with our heads in the books! We’d not long moved in to our wee flat and we were slavering about how lucky we were to have parents that hadn’t completely disowned us for living together at such a young age! The pub was mobbed, there was a great buzz about the place, we were pretty well oiled (the air was very, very smoky!)  and the jukebox was belting out some great tunes. Just as I turned to Alex and said, "Maybe we should get engaged, it might make our Mums and Dads feel a bit happier about us buying the flat together?", and Alex replied, "That’s a great idea! OK, let’s get engaged!" the jukebox blared out ‘..Like a Bridge over Trou-u-bled Waters, I will ease your miiiiiiiii-iii-ii-ind.’ From that moment on, in the Milne family history books, ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ became “the song that was playing when Alex proposed” – even though it wasn’t really as he didn’t really! But, hey, why let the truth get in the way of a good story; the Simon and Garfunkel classic will forever be one of our special songs! Jane's arrangement couldn't have done it more justice and, once we've all got the hang of our parts, I reckon it's going to sound awesome.

The other lovely thing about tonight was that Jane dedicated the song to her mum, Ray, who sings with the choir. It was yet another poignant wee moment in the life of HoS and a reminder of the fact that the songs we sing can mean different things to different people - not only for those of us that are lucky enough to be in the choir singing, but also for the people who come along to listen when the choir performs.

So, I might be floundering a bit tomorrow when the tutor elaborates on the psychodynamic theories that I was supposed to read up on tonight, but at least come next Monday’s rehearsal I’ll, hopefully, have a good grasp of the lower harmony part of a fantastic song - the one that was playing when Alex proposed....